The Dwarves (d-1) by Markus Heitz

Author:Markus Heitz [Heitz, Markus]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sf_fantasy

Tungdil was roused from his dreams by a vigorous shake of his arm. He sat up blearily and groaned. I thought dwarven beer wasn't supposed to give you headaches?

"They've gone!" he heard Balendilнn saying. "Tungdil, are you listening to me? They've gone!"

He opened his eyes. The high king's counselor was standing at his bedside, with Bavragor, Goпmgar, and the twins in the background. They were clad in their mail and looked ready to leave. "What are you talking about? They're behind you," murmured Tungdil, struggling to move his tongue.

"Not them! I'm talking about Gandogar. His party has left." This time Balendilнn's voice was louder and sharper. "You'll never catch them if you don't leave now."

Tungdil slid out of bed. His body and mind were in no fit state to embark on a high-speed journey in the dark. "Don't worry," he said soothingly. "They'll take forever to reach the Gray Range. Ask Goпmgar how long they needed to get here!"

"They're not traveling on foot," Boлndal broke in. "They've all vanished except Bislipur, and no one knows where they've gone."

"They didn't go through the gates," added Boпndil.

Suddenly it dawned on Tungdil: "Sverd!" In an instant he was wide-awake. Bislipur's gnome had followed them and eavesdropped on their conversation until Boпndil had scared him away. Which means Gandogar knows exactly how to operate the rails. Sverd was every bit as devious as his master.

Tungdil wriggled into his leather jerkin and pulled on his mail, leather breeches, and boots. At last he was ready for the adventure to begin. He told Bavragor and Goпmgar to follow the twins through the disused passageways and light the fires beneath the cauldrons.

"I want the wagons to be on the rails by the time I get there. I've got a thing or two to say to Bislipur first."

He asked Balendilнn to accompany him. "I see you've chosen your mason," the counselor remarked.

"Not exactly." Tungdil sighed. "Bavragor volunteered himself and I fell for it. It's too late to go back on my word, but I wouldn't mind knowing why everyone is so against him. Is his drinking really that bad?"

Balendilнn drew breath. "Either he's sober, in which case he's bitter and rancorous; or he's tipsy, which means he won't stop singing and playing the clown-the merry minstrel, they call him. As far as his masonry is concerned, he's past his peak."

"You mean he's not the best mason?"

"Oh, he's the best, all right. You only need look at the parapets, halls, and passageways to convince yourself of that. But Bavragor hasn't used his chisel for ten cycles or more. Thanks to his perpetual drinking, his hands can't be trusted to do what his mind commands. No other mason has ever come close to rivaling his art, so yes, he's the best." He pursed his lips. "I didn't want to recommend him because his mood is unpredictable and he may not be as skilled as he was. Either way, it's not worth dwelling on now."

They found Bislipur breakfasting in the dining hall with a group of fourthling delegates.

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